Hero runs ahead and holds the actress in his arms in twenty split seconds. Both of them cry together. Then he puts his hands around her breasts, holds her from behind. His hands, cupping her breasts: her eyes, shutting down in the sun with pure satisfaction.
They please each other, at least cinematically. It’s a perfect scene. Cut. Submit to post-production. Submit to Pro Tools.
Tushar stands, surrounded by a romantic comedy.
It takes place in the deserts of Jaisalmer. It’s actually shot in Bombay: in a backalley of Mira Road that is so congested with manual laborers that no one will notice the shooting early in the morning. Why would they? Half of them will pay for this film.
When this comes out, everyone will watch it. It has THE actor everyone wants to watch. It has THE action scenes everyone wants to emulate – in their homes, fuck all those dangerous stunts. Dad is making you proud, son. Watch all those actresses wearing glamorous micro-skirts, aware of that precise second when sexy legs will reveal more than whole words can.
Tushar dreams in the morning. About twenty of them wake up in a common room, then they go out and have smokes, then they direct a film together. Then they die.
Tushar stands, surrounded by an erotic thriller. The actress wears a lacy black bra while going to the hero in her distress. Then she cries – but this isn’t in the script. She cries and she cries. She WON’T DO THE FILM. Dad runs to her, exasperated, with a total loss of words and abuse. What’s wrong with her? Maybe everything, maybe nothing.
The cameraman hovers around, searching for instructions and compliments. Dad is walking, with his king-sized feet, towards the actress. He talks to her. Everyone, including Tushar, has their eyes fixed on them.
The attention grabbing elements. The limelight stealers. As her tears ruin her make-up, everything goes slow-motion. Tushar’s world swirls around him: the complaining extras, the security on the sets.
When the spinning inside his hot, hot head finally stops, Tushar stands.
He goes to his Dad.
“I want to be an engineer,” Tushar says. Engineering would be better than all of this, is what runs through Tushar’s brain. Engineering would be better than everything.
Dad is sitting smoking one cigarette after another. He doesn’t react.
Now, Dad is smoking more cigarettes. He’s drinking from bottle after bottle.
Tushar says, ‘I want to be an Engineer.’
Dad says, ‘shut the fuck up.’
It’s late night. Dad is in his car. He’s looking through the next day’s shooting.
Tushar comes and says, ‘I want to be an Engineer. ‘
Ravi is picking up all the set pieces for the day. He doesn’t know where to put them; he just carries everything on his shoulders.
Dad screams, ‘Go out of here! You come here, walking like Your Majesty Tushar to the set on the last day of filming when boys and girls your age would kill to take your place. And then my actress bitch is constantly ruining my shots. Everyone is screwing up, and then you come to top the game!’
Tushar looks down. Obviously, he isn’t made to be an Engineer.